


A Good Friend Takes Care Of You

by thelookyouredoingthelookagain



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, Feelings, I Don't Have Friends I Just Have One, John's blog, M/M, Sherlock Being Sherlock, Sherlock Can't Even Flirt Normally, The Hounds of Baskerville, anonymous
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-16
Updated: 2014-08-16
Packaged: 2018-02-09 08:11:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,282
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1975527
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thelookyouredoingthelookagain/pseuds/thelookyouredoingthelookagain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Sherlock slips up and reveals some sentiment, he tries to cover it up by being detached again. Somehow, that feels even worse. Again he tries to fix things, but will his overcompensation lead to results neither one of them expected?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Shift

**Author's Note:**

> All works here were produced by two friends in the fandom. One writes as SH and one as John, and we edit together. Our characters are based on the BBC's _Sherlock_ , though we don't mind playing a little loosely with canon and the occasional AU. We have whims and like to follow them. While we like to torture our boys with constant misunderstandings, we know they belong together and we always see to that.
> 
> All posted works are complete, and we hope there will be something for everyone. Please take a look at our other works. Just a note, though, there's pretty much always going to be smut. Sometimes fluff, sometimes angst, but always smut. We can't help it: that's just the way we are.
> 
> We plan to add new work each weekend, so please subscribe. 
> 
> We also really appreciate the kudos and comments --they mean so much. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!

So now it was home to London. Sherlock glanced at John who was smiling blankly as he stared out the window. He had said it felt like coming home from holiday, but Sherlock disagreed. Firstly, Sherlock did not take holidays. Secondly, what they had been doing was working, not relaxing, and he still felt troubled by that feeling of not knowing. Although it had turned out all right, even just one night of not being able to trust himself had left an impact.

And perhaps that explained the third reason Sherlock did not feel relaxed after the trip: something had shifted between John and him, and it was based in sentiment. He knew he had hurt John with what he'd said and that hadn't been his intention. But in trying to fix it, he had used sentiment and, although it hadn't been a lie and seemed to have righted the wrong, Sherlock now felt uncomfortable about how that exchange might affect their future.

John glanced over at Sherlock and wondered what he was thinking about. He'd been quiet and more reserved than usual, but John chalked it up to the scare Sherlock had. John had never seen him like that before and frankly he was glad it was all finally over. "Good to be getting home, yeah?" he asked, trying to lighten his mood a bit.

"Yes," Sherlock said stiffly. "And back to work as normal." He looked at his phone, but it was uninteresting so he looked out the window. It was equally uninteresting.

John looked back out of his own window, now feeling a bit silly for talking. He didn't say anything again until they were back at the flat. After taking his shoes off and hanging his coat, John headed for the kitchen. "Want some tea?"

"Yes, please," Sherlock said. "And don't do anything funny to it just to get back at me."

"I'm not going to do anything to it, Sherlock. Though that's not a bad idea," he teased. 

"John, I only did that to help the case," Sherlock's tone was short. "That's all the whole trip was about, you know, a case."

"Somehow I'm always the victim in our pursuit of justice," he laughed quietly, a bit awkwardly. Why was Sherlock so upset? "And I know it was for a case. I know it wasn't a holiday or anything . . ."  

"No, it wasn't," Sherlock said. "I don't doubt you enjoyed yourself, at least temporarily, with that woman, but it wasn't a holiday, it was work. And now we are home. And back to work."

Sherlock thought about his voice and the words he was saying. Was he really planning on treating John like this? What he had said about John's friendship, it had been true, but it wasn't that fact that bothered him -- it was uttering the fact. Sherlock knew quite clearly how he felt about John, about how much John meant to him, but in their entire acquaintance, that moment in Dartmoor had probably been the kindest Sherlock had ever been to John. The most open.

And that was worrying. So yes, Sherlock knew he probably would treat John like this for a while. He knew and he felt bad about it and he even hated himself a little for it. But it was safer.

"I was questioning her for the case," John said. "Trying to get information. It wasn't a date or anything." He came out and brought Sherlock his tea, handing it to him before sitting in his own chair. "So, back to work then. Does that mean you already have a new case?" 

John could tell he was irritated. He could hear it in Sherlock's voice, but God only knows what was going on in his head. Maybe if they moved the conversation away from what had happened he would calm down a bit. Was it possible that all of this irritation was because he'd been scared? Because for once his brain had failed him? Which wasn't even true because he's been poisoned. Maybe he should reassure him. 

"You know, seeing that hound wasn't your fault, yeah? You're still a clever genius . . . you couldn't help being poisoned."  

"I know I'm a clever genius, John" Sherlock said, taking the tea. "I don't need you to tell me that. I knew it before I knew you and I still know it. I understand completely what happened. We needn't talk anymore of Dartmoor. You needn't think any more of what happened there."  
  
Even Sherlock knew his behaviour was slipping towards ridiculous. So he stood up and said, "Thank you for the tea. I think I'll go to my room and see what cases have come in."

"Look, I'm sorry if I've upset you or anything," John said, turning in his chair to face him. He didn't like apologising when he hadn't done anything wrong, but he didn't understand why Sherlock was talking to him like that. He didn't like it, and he was weary to admit it was upsetting him a bit.  

"You've not upset me, John," Sherlock said. "I apologise for how I am acting. Perhaps it was just being away -- I wasn't myself, I think. It's nothing to do with you. I apologise."

"Okay. Just . . . if you want to talk about anything, I'm here." John pulled his laptop close so he could start writing about this latest case for the blog. He'd been piecing it together in his head and was excited to get it written out. 

Sherlock went to his room and shut the door. But he didn't open his laptop or even his phone. He lay down on his bed and looked up at the ceiling. Two things had happened to him, two things that were very unlike him, and they were bothering him.

One, the fear, he understood. He didn't like it, of course, but he understood it. But the other one -- the thing with John -- he couldn't get his head around that one just yet.

Since John had come into his life, Sherlock had changed. He wasn't stupid, he could see that. But the changes were acceptable to him. He had still been able to be himself, just -- and he'd never admit this to John -- perhaps a slightly better version of himself. And it had seemed that John was happy with how things were. With how Sherlock was.

Yet, the need to clarify John's importance -- to announce that they were friends -- that was something different. That wasn't how Sherlock was. Of course, he had meant every word he said; he hadn't changed that much that he would tell a lie just to make someone feel better. But why had he had to say anything? Shouldn't John just know?

And that was the issue: it was an acknowledgement that he had an obligation to John, that he owed John something. It was not unreasonable, he knew that; in fact, it was entirely appropriate. But it was something he was unfamiliar with. Something he had little confidence that he could succeed at. He wished that John could just know, just know how important he was to Sherlock. But it appeared he didn't, which meant Sherlock was failing on his end of their friendship.

John typed away happily, including the things the man at the inn had said, Sherlock's meltdown (though he wrote about it kindly) and his nice apology the next day. The blog posts had become as much about their growing relationship as it had about the cases themselves. People liked reading that sort of thing. John liked writing about it. He'd been confident about his role in Sherlock's life until he angrily spat out that he didn't have friends. That had really upset John, much more than his little attitude here at the flat. But then he'd apologised, and took it back, and now everything was back to normal. He hoped anyways. 

Sherlock closed his eyes for a moment. Okay, now, he told himself, you understand what happened. This meant he had three options: delete the whole experience so he didn't have to deal with it, no longer care about whether or not John knew how Sherlock felt about him, or try to be a better friend. Sherlock, despite knowing which was the right choice, carefully considered the possibility of each.

When John was finished typing it out, he proofread and posted the story. Like always he closed the blog right after, preferring to see the comments a couple days after a posting. He moved into the kitchen to see if he could find anything for dinner. "Sherlock? Do you want anything specific for dinner?"  

Sherlock's analysis was interrupted by John's shout. "Whatever," he shouted back, not getting up. Obviously, he would have to try to be a better friend, but he needed more time to think this through, to plan. He opened his laptop and saw the notification about John's new blog post. He read it. He didn't love the reference to his meltdown and the apology description was a bit too sentimental, but it was all accurate so Sherlock couldn't really complain. There were already comments. A few laughed at Sherlock, but he didn't care. And then he got an idea.


	2. Sherlock's First Idea

Sherlock reread John's blog post. And then he started typing.

**72 Comments**

     Sherlock is lucky to have a friend like you.

 ** Anonymous61  **8 January 17:57

**________________________________**

He smiled to himself. This he could do. He left his room.

John rolled his eyes at Sherlock's shout and moved to the freezer where he found a package of frozen salmon. That would work. He went down to Mrs Hudson's to borrow a few potatoes and then went straight back to the kitchen, getting to work. He was hungry, and it would need to cook for a while so he didn't want to waste any time. 

Sherlock came into the kitchen. "Salmon? Brain food, excellent choice," he said. He turned on the kettle to make himself another cup of tea. "Do you want one?" he asked John.

"No thanks. I'm still working on the first one," John said, glancing over at him. Hmm. Sherlock seemed more himself. Perhaps he found a new case then, finally putting the hound business behind him. "New case?"

"What? Oh yes, a few interesting options. I'll, uh, take a closer look and choose one tomorrow. Have you written up this one then?"

"Just posted it a few minutes ago," John confirmed. He was peeling and cutting the potatoes as the salmon thawed a bit in the sink. 

"And I suppose you've included everything . . . even details which the more intelligent amongst us would know were not relevant to the case? It's your right, of course, I'd just like to be prepared for any possible fallout I might receive at Scotland Yard."

John glanced over at him. "I did include your scare, but I made it very obvious what had occurred. And if it makes you feel better I also included my ridiculous behaviour when I was drugged. Although that won't look too good for you either since you did the drugging," he smiled. 

"Anyone with a reasonable interest in deduction would not question my motivation," Sherlock said. He waited as John finished the meal preparations and then asked, "Do you need any help with dinner?"

John raised his brows. "Now that all I have to do is put it in the oven? No thanks," he laughed. 

"Fine," Sherlock said. "I just thought I'd offer." He picked up his tea and walked over to the sofa. He put his feet up on the table. "Did you tell Mrs Hudson we were home?" he asked.

"Yes, that's where I got the potatoes from," John said, setting the timer and sinking down into his own chair. 

"Glad to be home?" Sherlock asked.

"Yes, she was very happy. She asked about the trip, but I just gave her a slimmed-down version." John reached for his book and opened up to where he left off. 

"I meant you," Sherlock said. "Are you glad to be home?"

"Oh. Yes, I am glad to be home. I didn't really like it there, to be honest." 

"Really? You seemed to have been enjoying yourself," Sherlock said. "I thought it was a nice change of pace."

"Poisoned fog, killer dogs, landmines . . . not really my idea of a holiday," John said.  

"You're only focusing on the negative. Hallucinations, flirting, pulling rank -- surely three of your favourite things," Sherlock said, smiling a little.

"Hallucinations, not even close. Though those other two were all right, I suppose," he smiled lightly. "And your apology, of course."

"Yes, you're easily swayed by sentiment," Sherlock said. "You need to be careful with that, you know."

"Why's that?" John asked, looking over at him. 

"I wouldn't want your expectations to disappoint you," Sherlock said. "Besides focusing on sentiment can easily distract one from important details."

"I'm going to be fine," John said, properly looking over at him now. "Are you talking about something specific?"

"No, not really," Sherlock said, taking a drink of tea. "Of course, you probably could have handled Frankland's interruption more effectively, but you were drinking, right? Perhaps, in that circumstance, alcohol was more to blame than emotion."

"I didn't have that much to drink," John said. 

"Well, then you've just proved my point," Sherlock said. "Look, we needn't argue when I am so clearly correct in this matter. When will dinner be done?"

"You--" John cut off and sighed, opening his book again. "An hour or so."

"And you'll be spending that time reading. I'm correct, aren't I?" Sherlock asked. "Do you see? Do you see how it easy it is to pick up on clues when one isn't distracted by sentiment?" He was smiling again but tried to keep it to himself.

"What does my reading have to do with sentiment?" John asked, looking up again. 

"Nothing," Sherlock said. "I'm just saying that because I am able to maintain appropriate focus, I was able to deduce that you'd be reading. I'm just trying to set a good example for you. To help you learn.

"Oh, right, because you don't have any sentiment?" John asked. "And with my book open on my lap, God knows what I could have been doing."

"There's any number of things a person could be doing with a book in their lap. Goodness me, John, you do seem quite tetchy. Don't get angry at me just because you are so obvious. It's not my fault, you know," suddenly Sherlock was quite enjoying annoying John.

"I am going to read my book before you make me throw your dinner right out of the window," he said, opening his book and reading again. 

"Well, that was an incredibly childish response," Sherlock said. "And I should know because I am the king of childish responses." He stood up. "Fine, I shan't trouble you anymore. I will be in my room. Call me when dinner is ready, please."

"I won't. I'm going to be a child and eat by myself and just go to bed," John countered. He felt the corners of his mouth twitch, but he tried to keep it together. 

"Ten pounds says you won't do that, John," Sherlock called from his bedroom as he shut the door.

"We'll see about that," John mumbled, smiling down at his book. 

Sherlock opened his laptop. He went to John's blog and started rereading past cases. On every one which highlighted Sherlock's selfishness -- and to be fair, quite a few did -- he left a comment, praising John for his patience, skill and compassion. He enjoyed doing it: it felt like a clever secret. He also enjoyed reading about the cases; he and John really had had some adventures together.

After a while, he closed up his laptop and headed back to the living room where he found John still reading.

"Came back, huh?" John asked, not looking up from his book. 

"Just for a cup of tea," he said. "So did you enjoy your salmon then?"

John looked up at him just as the timer went off and he grinned. "I'm about to now," he said, getting up. He opened the oven, pulled one of the foil pouches into his plate and shut it again, humming as he opened it up on the counter and dumped the contents onto his plate. 

Sherlock followed John into the kitchen. "Are you going to make me do my own?" he asked. "Really, John, this behaviour is beneath you."

"Very observant of you," John grinned. He put his plate down at the table and grabbed a glass of water before sitting down and digging in. 

Sherlock fiddled with the food, filling his plate as well. He followed John and sat down. He ate a few bites. "This is very tasty," Sherlock said. "Thank you for making it."

John looked up and smiled at him. "You're welcome. I'm glad you like it."

"I do," Sherlock answered, eating a few more bites. "It was quite kind of you to make it. Thank you, again." Sherlock could hear the words coming out of his mouth -- he knew they were too formal, really, but he was just not good at this. "Are you back to the surgery tomorrow? Or will you be around for any interviews that might need to be done?"

John's brows furrowed a bit, but he didn't say anything about the nice comments. "Um, no, I figured I would go back properly on Monday," he answered. 

"Good, then, I mean, good," Sherlock said. He had finished eating -- he hadn't finished his food, of course, but he knew he wouldn't eat anymore. He stood up and washed his plate. Then he washed the pot from the potatoes. He refilled the kettle and turned to look at John. "Have you finished? I'll wash up."

"What's got into you?" John asked, turning around to face him. 

"Nothing whatsoever," Sherlock said. "You made the food, I'll tidy up. It's fair, equal. Just keeping things fair and equal."  
  
"Okay," John said slowly, handing John his plate. He stayed at the table, watching him clean up. 

Sherlock washed the dishes and then dried them. He made two cups of tea and sat back down with John. "So have you got more reading planned for the rest of the evening? Or will you just be acting childish? Or something else?"

"I was going to read for a bit, yes," John said. "It's a bit early to go to bed."

"Would you like privacy or can I sit with you?" Sherlock regretted that one. It felt too different -- normal Sherlock would have never asked a question like that. He'd best go back to how he was before dinner and keep his attempts at kindness online until he got better at it.

"Of course you can. Would you rather we watched telly or something?" John asked. It wouldn't be very nice to read if Sherlock wanted company. 

"I don't mind," Sherlock said. Because he really didn't. He was still feeling just a bit discombobulated. "Whatever you want."

"Maybe there's a movie on or something," he said, getting up and moving into the sitting room to start looking. 

"All right," Sherlock said, following him in. He sat down on the sofa. "I confess I'm glad to be home as well, John."

"Yeah?" John asked, wanting him elaborate why. He flicked through the channels slowly to find something good. 

"It's good to be back to normal, I suppose. Things seemed a little different there, well obviously they'd be different, we weren't in London . . . I don't know what I'm saying actually," Sherlock said.

"Different how?" John asked, stopping on a documentary about space. 

"Perhaps I am just referring to my confusion," he said. "Are you saying nothing seemed different to you?"

"I suppose, but I just assumed it was because of the poison. I don't know."

"Yes, I'm sure that's all it was," Sherlock said. "And now we are normal again. As we were. Nothing different."

"Just like before," John said. He was glad that Sherlock wasn't upset with him anymore. He thought about asking Sherlock what that was all about but changed his mind. He didn't want to upset him again now that he was finally feeling better. 

Sherlock settle in to watch the documentary, which was not as horrible as he'd expected it to be. When it finished, he looked at John to try to determine if he was ready to end the evening. "What now?" he finally just asked.

John looked over at him and shrugged. "I suppose we go to bed now," he said. He could read up there for a bit before he fell asleep.

"All right then," Sherlock said. "Good night, John."


	3. Sherlock's Second Idea

Sherlock headed up to his room. This time he really did look at his Inbox and found a few possible cases. He emailed them to arrange for them to come to the flat. Before closing his laptop, he went back to John's blog. He read the new comments -- there were quite a few more, which annoyed Sherlock slightly as his website got significantly less traffic -- but one in particularly caught his eye.

**114 Comments**

     I know hes a genius and all but Holmes sounds like a dick. Your to good for him.

 ** BluetilIDie2011**  8 January 21:37

**________________________________**

Sherlock wasn't really insulted by being called a dick, especially by someone whose punctuation and spelling skills were obviously rather weak. But the second half -- about John's being too good for Sherlock -- it was like a reminder that everyone, even stupid trolls on the internet, was aware of Sherlock's failings as a friend.

He had tried to be a bit better person during dinner, but it seemed to come out awkward. It was easier to do here.

**115 Comments**

     I know hes a genius and all but Holmes sounds like a dick. Your to good for him.

 ** BluetilIDie2011**   8 January 21:37

Sherlock loves John but doesn't know how to show it.

 ** Anonymous61 **8 January 22:41

**________________________________**

He logged off and got up. He put on his pajamas, brushed his teeth, and got into bed.

Upstairs, John was reading for a while before he got a bit bored and he went down for his computer. Back in his room he opened up the blog for new messages. There were several, even on old cases, all from an anonymous source. John's brows furrowed as he started to read through them. They were all for him. All praising him, mostly for putting up with Sherlock, others just because. He was clicking through each one, starting to smile a bit, when one made him pause. _Sherlock loves John but doesn't know how to show it_.

Who would have assumed that from the blog? If anything he could see someone thinking that John loved Sherlock as he was writing about the man over and over, but this? And then his mind sort of clicked. Sherlock had been acting strangely -- being very nice for no real reason. Had he seen the comments and felt bad? John sighed and put a comment of his own.

**116 Comments**

     Sherlock is a wonderful friend and I'm lucky to have him.    

 ** John Watson** 8 January 23:50  
_____________________________________

There. Now Sherlock would see that as well and not feel bad. These people didn't know what they were talking about. Sherlock was great. A bit different, but great.

Sherlock had fallen asleep, but as usual, he woke up a few hours later. He was confused for a moment, but when he remembered he was in his own bed, he was glad. He put on his dressing gown and went to make a cup of tea. He climbed back in bed and opened his laptop to look again at John's blog. He knew he probably shouldn't write any more comments; he didn't want to raise any suspicions, but he couldn't help his curiosity.

He read John's comment and smiled. It made him feel better. But only for a moment. Because then he realised that John was defending Sherlock, which he always did, even when Sherlock's behaviour was indefensible. John made excuses to Mrs Hudson, Lestrade, everyone; even when John later scolded him in private, he always defended Sherlock in public. Which is precisely what he forced John to do again. Sherlock's smile turned to shame -- even his attempt to show John kindness required John to take on more responsibility in their friendship.

     119 Comments

     Sherlock is a wonderful friend and I'm lucky to have him.

 ** John Watson** 8 January 23:50

             Get a room, why doncha?

 ** BluetilIDie2011 **8 January 21:37

            That's so sweet, John.

            **Molly Hooper ** 9 January 1:28

            Yeah, without him, what would you write about?

            **Harry Watson** 9 January 3:14  
_____________________________________

Sherlock stared at the screen and thought. And thought. He decided to abandon his entire plan, but then decided that would be cowardly. So he readjusted his plan. Instead of replying to John's comment, he posted a new one.

     A good friend looks after you. Even a genius should know that.

 ** Anonymous61** 9 January 4:04

_____________________________________

He clicked through a few websites until he got the details sorted. He moved the printer into his closet to muffle the noise. Before slipping the paper into an envelope, he looked over it.

_Good nutrition is key to a healthy life._

_You are invited to enjoy a delicious meal at the New Delhi House at 8pm this evening._

_Bring a friend._

On the outside of the envelope, he wrote in block letters WATSON. He sealed it then slipped down to the front door and dropped it on the mat. He hoped both John and Mrs Hudson wouldn't be up until after seven so the postman would come and drop the rest of the mail over the envelope.

He went back to bed and tried to sleep.

When John woke up the next morning, loving that he could just sleep in, he opened his laptop and went to the blog immediately. More comments, but nothing out of the ordinary. Someone suggesting that Sherlock and John get together was old news. He scrolled down and frowned lightly at the new one. Was this the same person as before?

     A good friend looks after you. Even a genius should know that.

 ** Anonymous61** 9 January 4:04

          He does look after me. I don't know who you are but read my earlier posts. The evidence is very clear.

 ** John Watson **9 January 10:13

He shut the lid a bit annoyed and headed down to the bathroom, and then to the kitchen for some coffee. While it brewed he got the post and tossed it on the table. He leaned on the counter and waited, poured himself a mug and then sat down, looking through the letters. He froze when he saw the last one, a plain envelope with only his last name. He looked around the flat, opened it slowly, and read the odd message. He was worried with that anonymous blogger, so he set it aside to show Sherlock later.

When Sherlock awoke for the second time, he could hear John was already up. He put on his dressing gown and headed down. He turned on the kettle and poured a cup of tea before flopping onto the sofa and putting his feet up on the table. He sat quietly until he had taken a few sips of tea.

Then he said, "Good morning. Sleep well?"

"Yeah, you?" John asked, moving into the sitting room with the letter.

"I did as a matter of fact," Sherlock said. "It's good to be in one's own bed. My mind feels clearer." He took another drink of tea.

John nodded. "Um . . . this came this morning, I wanted to show you." he said, handing him the letter.

"Intriguing," Sherlock said. He examined the envelope closely, even sniffing the seal. "Are you going to open it?"

"I did, but the message is really odd. Last night I was having a . . . thing with someone on the blog. I don't know if you could even call it a fight, but I'm afraid it might be from them -- a trap or something." He felt silly admitting it out loud but this was Sherlock after all and he would be able to debunk it if it was a crazy thought.

"Was the person threatening you? What kind of fight was it?" Sherlock felt a strange pain in his stomach. He thought he was trying to do something good and now it'd gone wrong again. God, he was so terrible at this. He set the envelope on the table and wished he could take it all back.

"No, nothing like that. Whoever it is keeps saying things about you, you know, not being nice," John said. "So I keep defending you and I'm just worried he's going to take it too far . . ."

"Was he threatening me then?" Sherlock said, doing his best to act like he knew nothing.

"No," John shook his head. "Just saying you were a bad friend." He shrugged, trying to play it off even though he felt so silly now.

"So someone is just commenting that I'm a bad friend who is not nice . . . and this alarms you so much you are worried that person is now contacting you at home?" Sherlock said. He realised he was using his deduction voice, as if he were really trying to solve the problem. "John, let's face it. I'm not very nice, am I? I have done some not nice things to people, including you, my friend. Perhaps you shouldn't be afraid of this person; perhaps we should hire him as he seems to be quite observant."

John rolled his eyes. "You are a very good friend, okay? Do you think the dinner will be safe?"

"Am I though?" Sherlock said casually. "You are a good friend, John. Me, less so." He sat up and spoke more seriously. "I imagine you'll be safe. You're a clever man. If something doesn't feel right, leave. I'll be here so contact me if you need help."

"You're obviously coming with me. It says bring a friend," John said, "and I am bringing my best one."

Sherlock smiled, just a genuine, instinctual smile. He said, "Thank you, John," but couldn't bring himself to say what he wanted to say: that John was his best friend too. Please, John, just know, he thought so hard in his head. Instead, he stood up and said, "We've got a potential client coming at 4. I need to go out for a while, but I'll be back in plenty of time."

"All right, I'll see you later," John said, looking down at the letter again. He smiled to himself, imagining Sherlock's smile just now. So genuine. At least now they had both said that out loud, and if Sherlock saw anything on the blog again, he would know it was nonsense.

Sherlock got dressed and headed out. He had a number of errands to do so he rushed to the shop first. He kept an eye on his watch -- he needed to be back to catch Mrs Hudson before she headed out for her afternoon walk, but be gone when the flowers he'd ordered last night arrived. He finished up a little before expected so he loitered outside the flat. When he saw John tip the delivery man, he waited five minutes and sneaked in to speak to Mrs Hudson.

Mrs Hudson was as curious as usual, but she agreed to leave the box Sherlock left with her on the table upstairs at 8.30 this evening. He left some chocolate with her as payment and shortly thereafter headed back up to the flat.

John put the flowers in a vase on the table and tried to figure out who had sent them. There was no card or anything, but there were too many gifts at the door all of a sudden. Did this have to do with the blog? He doubted that. Sherlock, maybe? Was this just way of trying to prove he was a good friend? It was a rather nice thought but unrealistic, so John shook his head and went back to his reading.

Sherlock took a deep breath before entering the flat. He saw the flowers and tried to act surprised. "Where did those come from?" he said, facing the counter to turn on the kettle.

"I'm not sure," John said, trying to read his voice and body language. Was he acting or did he really not know either? "There was no card."

"Intriguing," Sherlock said. "They're nice, at least." He took his tea and walked through the sitting room. "I'll go get ready for our guest." He went upstairs and lay down on his bed. Perhaps this might work? If they could just have a nice time at dinner, he'd have proven to himself that he could be a good friend. Then perhaps the pressure would be off a little. He drank his tea and headed back down.

The client was relatively boring, but Sherlock took pleasure in one detail. She was worried her husband was in danger as he had turned secretive and nervous. "At first I thought he might be having an affair but then a package of kitchen rubbish arrived through the post. This person clearly hates my husband -- if they loved him, they'd have sent flowers, not rubbish," she said.

Sherlock turned his eyes but not his head to watch John's reaction.

John glanced at their flowers, and then at Sherlock. Was someone trying to say they were in love with John? He shook the thoughts away and tried to focus on the woman talking.

When she finished her rant, Sherlock said they would take the case. After seeing her out, he turned to John, smiled, and said, "It's an affair."

When she left John felt a bit relieved. "How do you know? Why didn't you tell her?"

"It's obvious -- he's trying too hard not to be obvious. However, she was the only one who could come today and it'll give us something to do before you go back to work," Sherlock said. He sat down at the table to flip through the newspapers. "If I'm honest, it might be nice to solve a quick one, to show me I can trust my instincts again . . . Embarrassing."

"Sherlock, you were drugged. Your instincts are fine," John assured him. "Please don't worry about that."

"Still . . . it should be relatively easy and we can stop her worrying, I suppose," Sherlock said. "I'll spend a little time investigating now. Are you still thinking you'll go to this dinner?"

John nodded. "I want to know what is going on. It'll be like I'm conducting my own investigation."

"Fine," Sherlock said. "Good luck with that, then."

John stared at him for a bit and then went to open his laptop and check the blog again. 

Sherlock and John worked silently. Once it got dark, Sherlock stood up and said, "I think I'll have a shower." He headed up to the bathroom, but by the time he got under the water, his confidence about his plan was wavering again. He should have just left it, just pretended the whole conversation in Dartmoor hadn't even happened. He stepped out of the shower and wiped the mist away from the mirror. He looked at himself, and memories of John's kindness flashed in his head followed quickly by the times that he had been rude or dismissive to John. Why couldn't he have just decided to be nicer to John -- why had he developed this ridiculous plan? It was too late now. They'd have to go to dinner and once they were back, he'd never post another comment or come up with another scheme. He'd try to just be nicer and if that wasn't good enough. . .  well, it'd have to be good enough.

Sherlock dressed and moved into the sitting room. "Still working?" he said to John. "Where is it we're going again?"

"I was just looking for new comments, making sure that user wasn't posting anymore nonsense," John said. "And the letter says we should go to New Delhi House at eight." John got up and stretched. "I'm going to shower as well." And with that he disappeared into the bathroom. 

Sherlock sat at the table and looked at the flowers. They were pretty. Then he got up and moved to the sofa. Then he stood up and looked out the window. Then Sherlock realised something. He was nervous.

John took a quick shower and went up to his room to change. He had no idea what to expect tonight.

When John came in, Sherlock looked up. "You look . . . ready," he said. "Shall we go then?"

John held his breath as his words paused, but then he just said ready and John deflated a bit. "Yes, I'm ready," he said, grabbing his coat.


	4. Sherlock's Third Idea Surprises Even Him

They headed out and Sherlock got a cab. When they arrived at the restaurant, there was a bit of queue but when John gave his name, the maître d' sat them immediately. They browsed the menus and Sherlock said, "Do you want to get some wine?"

"We might as well," John said. He felt better being in such a public place.

They each ordered their food and Sherlock chose the wine. "Are you feeling better about the whole thing or are you still worried?" he asked John once the server had gone.

"I feel better. It's pretty crowded and there doesn't seem to be anything suspicious going on. If you don't see anything, we're good," he smiled.

Sherlock looked around. "I think it seems all right. It's a quite nice place actually." He picked up a poppadom and ate a bite.

When the food came, Sherlock saw John looking at it before taking a bite. "Look, if you're worried about your food, we can swap and I'll eat yours. On the other hand, you said the commenter was saying bad things about me so perhaps my food is the one that's poisoned," he teased. "Perhaps we should just both eat some of both meals and that way we'll each drop dead and no one has to feel guilty." He smiled at John.

John smiled wide. "You just regret your choice and want some of mine," he teased. "But yes, we can share our food. And I am not afraid of being poisoned!"

The dinner was enjoyable. Perhaps helped along by the wine, Sherlock was able to relax and they just talked normally, they were just normal as they were before any of this had started. He was comfortable with John -- why had he had to make such a big deal about everything? Maybe John wasn't defending him online; maybe John honestly thought Sherlock was a wonderful friend.

As they left they decided to walk part of the way home to get a little air -- the wine seemed to have affected John as well. They joked about some things and suddenly Sherlock felt like slipping his arm through John's. He didn't but he had the urge to. Surely that was not normal, that's not what friends, even best friends, did, was it? And that's when Sherlock realised it: all his actions in the last day, those things weren't about being a friend to John -- they were about _courting_ John. What had he been thinking? He had sent John flowers, he bought him a gift, this had been a date. And it was all Sherlock's doing.

He wasn't quite sure what to make of this revelation.

John was happy. He knew it was probably the wine, but he felt good. He convinced Sherlock to walk all the way home because it was just so nice out. A small voice in the back of his head was reminding him that all of these actions -- the flowers, the dinner -- were like a date. And he didn't care. He'd been on a date with Sherlock, and it'd been nice. He looked over and looped his arm in Sherlock's. "Were you on the blog last night?"

Sherlock felt funny about John's touch or rather he felt funny because he liked it. Something was happening, and he didn't know what it was and therefore didn't know how to respond. He needed to think more, he needed to have a plan. So he ignored the question for a moment and when John repeated it, he answered, "Yes, I read the write up of the case."  
  
This wasn't a lie. But he also knew that it didn't answer the question John was really asking.

Luckily, by then, they were at Baker Street. Sherlock unlocked the door and went in ahead of John. He glanced at the table and saw the box he had left with Mrs Hudson. He couldn't deal with it all now so he called, "I'll be in my room" and headed towards his bedroom and shut the door.

He took off his coat and lay down on the bed. Any minute now John would open the box and see the medicine and the bandages and the note that said _A good friend looks after you_. He would do one of two things: know that it was all -- the comments, the flowers, the dinner -- Sherlock's doing or he'd worry that some random internet troll was now stalking him, a worry that would have also been Sherlock's doing. Neither one of those options seemed very appealing.

However, lying here waiting to see what John would do next was not very appealing either. Think Sherlock! he shouted at himself in his head. You have spent the last day wooing John. You have just come home from a date with John. Why have you done that?

John was just about to tell Sherlock his suspicions when Sherlock was rushing into the flat, and not only that but then rushing to his room. Confused, and a bit hurt, John took off his coat and was about to go up to the room when he noticed the box. He went towards it and opened it up, his stomach dropping when he read the note. It was straight out of the blog.

"Sherlock!" John called out. He looked around the flat as if expecting someone to be hiding in one of the corners.

Sherlock heard John's voice but couldn't bring himself to respond. So he picked up his phone and wrote:

_I'm sorry, John. I don't know what I'm doing. I'm sorry. SH_

John felt his phone vibrate and looked at the message. And he looked. So it had been Sherlock after all. The only thing Sherlock didn't know how to do was sentiment, so didn't it make sense that, in trying to show John he was a good friend, he went a bit overboard and now things had gotten out of hand? That seemed more likely than a maniac from his blog breaking in. He went to Sherlock's room and knocked on the door. "Sherlock? Can I come in?" he asked quietly. 

Sherlock sat up and turned off the bedroom lamp so the room was dark. "Yes," he said because what other option was there. It had to be dealt with.

John walked in and, a bit awkwardly, sat on the edge of his bed. "It's been you, right? The comments and the flowers and the letter and that box?" 

"Yes," Sherlock said softly. "It was all me."

"I'm very relieved that it wasn't some wacko," John teased lightly, nudging his leg, trying to lighten the mood. "You seem upset. Why?"

"I am," Sherlock said, not looking up. "Because I don't know what I'm doing. Or even why I'm doing it." He swallowed. "I do not like that feeling."

"Sherlock, you don't need to give me gifts to prove that you are a good friend. I promise you are. And frankly, your gifts were a bit . . . more than friends, if you know what I mean," he smiled.  

"I know they were. I know precisely what you mean," Sherlock said.

John's stomach twisted nervously. "Is that . . . that's not how you meant it, is it?" He was careful to sound casual about it. He didn't want Sherlock to think he hated the idea, but he didn't want to come off as eager. He needed to be prepared for any answer. 

"I don't know, John," Sherlock said. "Possibly."

"What . . . um . . . how are you planning to decide?" 

"It's not about deciding . . . I was hoping that something would happen that would make my motivation obvious to me . . ." he said. "I'm not very good at this."

"Is this why you were angry when we came back?"

"When? I haven't been angry. I've been . . . confused," Sherlock said. "Which I suppose does make me angry. A little. I'm sorry."

"When we first came back. I don't know. You seemed to be really upset. I was worried it was something I did."

"It wasn't you, John," Sherlock said. "It was just, Dartmoor got me thinking about our . . . friendship and then I got confused about it all. And then I tried to make it better, clearer, and then that just confused me more."

"Why didn't you just talk to me?" John asked, bringing his legs up to sit a bit more comfortably. 

"Because I'm not very good at that, am I? What better evidence do you need than what happened there?" Sherlock slid down on the bed and turned away from John. "I'm sorry for all this. I'm embarrassed that I couldn't do any of it right."

"Wait -- what happened there?" John asked.

"When I tried . . . and failed to tell you how much you meant to me."

"God, you are frustrating!" John flopped down on the bed in exaggerated defeat. "How can I convince you that you are the greatest friend I've ever had, Sherlock? I really don't know what else to do."

"And what about the other . . . possibility?"

John looked over at him. "The thought has crossed my mind," he admitted. 

"Is it just because . . . I was so effective at wooing you? Because of the mystery?"

"It's because you're amazing. Smart, funny, handsome -- you care so much about my happiness you went through all of this," he said, waving his hand. 

Sherlock didn't say anything. What could he say to that?

John sat up when Sherlock didn't say anything and wondered if maybe he had gone too far. "Sherlock?" he asked quietly, wanting to know for sure he was being shot down before he left him alone. 

Sherlock turned his head towards John and quietly said, "Would you like to lie down beside me?"

John flushed but nodded, scooting up the bed a bit and laying down next to Sherlock, on his side, facing him. 

Sherlock slid his arms around John's back but didn't say anything else. He literally had no idea what to say, a feeling he would have hated had he not been so distracted by how much he liked being this close to John.

"I was hoping it was you," John said quietly. 

Sherlock pressed his head into John's shoulder and smiled. "I'm glad," he said softly.

John brought his hand up and pet his hair lightly. "You took me on a date," he smiled. 

"I didn't really mean to," Sherlock said, "but clearly I wanted to."

"Do you mind that you did?" John asked quietly. 

"I don't," Sherlock said. "As long as you don't. Whatever happens, I want us to be more equal."

"I don't mind at all," John said. 

Sherlock lay back flat on the bed, keeping one arm still tucked under John. "This has all been kind of exhausting. It probably would have been simpler to just talk to you about things. I kept having to adapt my plan, and it's been exhausting." He looked over at John and smiled.

"Yes," he smiled. "But it was all very sweet."

Sherlock felt his face flush a little. "Thanks," Sherlock said. "I've not done anything like it before. It helped that I was doing it anonymously or trying to at least. I get nervous about things like this."

"You went a bit overboard," John smiled. "You were being obvious," he teased. 

"I wasn't!" Sherlock said, softly pushing John on the shoulder. "Perhaps I was a bit too eager with the comments, but if I had spread things out a bit, you wouldn't have figured it out."

"I would have," he laughed. "No one comments on the early cases anymore. You were being so nice. Very . . . sentimental," he teased.

"I guess I do extremes -- none at all or a bit too much. Are you sure you want to be with someone like that?"

"Oh yes," he smiled. "I really do."

Sherlock turned back on his side to face John. "So what exactly will this mean, then?"

John shrugged. "More dates, sentiment, . . . things like that."

"And touching?" he said. "I'm sorry, but if we're going to talk about things, let's just talk. Are we talking about touching and kissing and that lot?"

John nodded. "All of that," he said. "Whatever you like," he smiled. 

"And that's okay with you? I really could have sworn I've heard you say on any number of occasions that that sort of thing was distinctly not okay with you."

John shrugged. "Things change," he smiled. 


	5. John's Approves All Of Sherlock's Ideas

Sherlock smiled back at John. Then he moved a little closer and put his hand on John's cheek. "I'm going to kiss you now," he said and leaned in to kiss John's mouth softly.

John smiled before kissing him back, bringing his hand up to Sherlock's chest. 

Sherlock held the kiss before pulling back slightly. He looked John in the eyes and said, "Still okay?"

John nodded. "Oh yes," he smiled. 

Sherlock kissed John again, a little harder. He let his tongue push a little into John's mouth. He held the back of John's head with his hand, his fingers slipping through his hair.

John hummed softly and pushed his tongue out to meet Sherlock's, gripping his shirt lightly. 

"John," Sherlock said into the kiss. Sherlock was now completely without a plan, but he was with John, his best friend, his only friend, and someone he loved. This he knew to be true regardless of what he said aloud or wrote online. This was true. He didn't need a plan with John, because with John, he was safe. He stayed in the kiss, bringing his body closer to John.

"Yes?" John murmured, pecking small kisses on his chin and jaw. 

"Let's get into the bed," Sherlock said, lifting his chin to lean his head back. "Take off your clothes."

"How forward, after just one date," John smiled, pulling his shirt off.

"You really should have done more investigating. You have no idea what I expect from my dates," Sherlock said, smiling as he took off his shirt and trousers. He slipped under the covers and then took off his socks.

John, now in just his pants, climbed in beside him. He slipped them off and tossed them over the bed. "Please, do tell," he grinned. 

"Complete submission to my every whim, no back talk and I'll need a cup of tea brought in first thing in the morning," Sherlock said, grinning like, well, like an idiot.

John grinned. "I suppose I can do all that, especially after you went through so much trouble for me."

"True, though to be fair John, in some ways, that kind of describes our entire relationship already. You shouldn't bend to my every whim, you know."

"I don't," John said. "Well, I kind of do but . . . I don't mind."

"Well, maybe it's just the wine talking, but I don't think you should. We should be more equal. I have very excellent whims most of the time, but not always, John. Perhaps tomorrow we should change roles. I'll submit to your every whim and you'll see."

"Okay," John smiled. "We did have a bit much to drink."

"Fine, you're in charge tomorrow. Tonight, though, are you going to be a good date and play nice?"

John nodded. "I'll play nice," he grinned.

"Good," Sherlock scooted himself up a little. "Okay, my first whim requires you to truthfully answer a question. Was it you who came into the room and kissed me while we were in Dartmoor?"

"Sherlock, we were sharing a room," John reminded him. "Who came to our door?"

"Fine, it wasn't you, forget I mentioned it," he said smiling.

"Well, who was it, then?" John asked.

"I don't feel like talking about it. If you want more details, you can ask tomorrow when I submit to your whims. My next wish is for you to lie on your stomach, please."

Sherlock lay on his side, facing John. He moved his hand to John's shoulder and used his index finger to trace the muscles. Then he trailed it along John's shoulder blade. "Close your eyes, please," he said softly.

John watched him for a moment before closing his eyes. 

Sherlock spread his fingers and pressed harder into John's skin, rubbing his back. He leaned over John and kissed his shoulder as he lifted himself up a little. He bent closer and moved his mouth across the path he had traced with his finger, licking and kissing.

John squeezed his eyes shut and bit his lip. That felt very good. He hummed softly when he felt Sherlock's tongue. 

Sherlock kept moving across John's back, occasionally nipping lightly at the skin. He started rubbing with his hand again, pressing the muscles of John's lower back.

John twitched lightly at the bites, grinning and trying to keep his eyes closed. Sherlock's hands were like magic, rubbing his back like that. This would be nice after long days at the surgery, and he was happy he could ask for that now. 

Sherlock kissed John's side softly; as soon as John shifted from the tickling sensation, he moved to the middle of John's back. "Are you feeling relaxed?" he asked.

John nodded. "Very much. This feels so good, Sherlock."

"I'm glad," Sherlock said. "I like kissing you." He kept moving his mouth on John's back and let his hand move across the muscles of John's arse, dipping down to grip and massage the back of John's thighs. "You really are strong, John. It's quite sexy."

John shifted lightly underneath him, feeling his face flush. "You sound surprised," he teased softly.

"I am, a little. I always thought I could easily crush you if I needed to, but now I'm not so sure," he said teasingly. He started kissing John's lower back and his hands moved on John's legs.

John hummed. "You can do whatever you want," he mumbled. If Sherlock kept this up, he was going to fall asleep soon. 

Sherlock slid his body lower on the bed. He moved his mouth across John's hips, dipping down to kiss his cheeks. His hand slid to John's inner thighs, moving up between his legs and then back down. He pressed himself against John's side as he kept stroking and kissing his skin.

"Sherlock . . ." John moaned softly, feeling very warm and flustered now, his hands and lips moving to much more intimate places. 

"Should I stop, John? Tell me and I will. Regardless of any whim. This night has been so lovely already, we can stop right now if you want," he kept kissing as he spoke.

"Don't stop," John sighed. "Just . . ." he trailed off, blinking his eyes open. "It's good."

"I don't want to do anything you don't want to do," he said, moving his hand from John's legs up to his arse. "I've changed my whim now anyway." He slipped off his pants and rolled onto his stomach. "You do me now."

Sherlock had done so well John felt like jelly. He lay still for a couple minutes before getting himself up and straddling Sherlock's legs. He started at his shoulders, massaging the muscles, carefully kneading them. The lips would come after. Soon. 

Sherlock liked feeling John's weight on him and as soon as John's hands began massaging his shoulders, he felt his muscles begin to loosen and relax. After the anxiety of the last few days, it felt good to let go.

As John scooted lower he started to kiss Sherlock's back, very lightly, picking spots at random as his hands worked his lower back.

John's soft kisses tickled Sherlock's skin but in a good way. Sherlock felt his breath slow and deepen and he sunk into the mattress. "That's good," he said quietly. "We should have started this before. It would have helped that night in Dartmoor."

"Yes, it would have," John agreed, speaking against his skin as he moved lower.

"Almost all the time I'm with you, I feel nice, John, but when I get worried about something, I mean about us, it's really, really unpleasant," Sherlock confessed. "I know it means that I care very much about you, but it's one of the things that puts me off sentiment." He swallowed and concentrated on John's hands. "This, on the other hand, is definitely a positive."

"I know the bad stuff is hard to deal with but now we can deal with it together." He moved lower, kissing the small of his back now and massaging his legs.

"That's good," Sherlock said, turning his head to the other side. "I mean, what you're doing. I mean, it's good we can deal with things together as well. I think. I don't know. I don't know what that means, really. But okay, I'll try." He moved his arms, reaching them out to each side to stretch.

"Shh," John chuckled softly, coming back up and rubbing along his arms.

"Fine, but only because I'm currently having a whim to be silent. Don't get too bossy, Dr Watson," Sherlock smiled and turned his head back to the other side. When John's hand slid down his arm, he turned his wrist to grab it for a moment. "Thank you, John," he said softly, before letting his hand go. The movement on his muscles felt so good; knowing it was John who was touching him made it even better.

John smiled and kissed the back of his neck as he rubbed Sherlock's arms and shoulders.

"Can I turn over?" Sherlock asked.

"Do we have to wait for a whim?" John asked, grinning as he moved to let Sherlock up.

"I've a new whim, actually," Sherlock said, smiling as he turned himself. "I'd like us to kiss again." He pulled John down. This was different now -- they were naked, John on top of Sherlock as he kissed him harder this time, his hands reached to hold John's hips and press them against his own. "Is this okay?" he whispered into John's ear.

John nodded, grinding lightly back against him. "It's good," he breathed.

Sherlock's cock started to stiffen against John's movement. It had been a long time since he felt this way in the presence of another person -- he felt a little insecure, but this was John. Even though Sherlock hadn't expected this to happen, John would be good to him, he knew that. John would make sure this all went all right. He kissed John's mouth again, slipping his tongue in to find John's.

John moaned into the kiss, lacing his fingers into Sherlock's hair. He felt Sherlock's cock getting harder, his own as well, and his stomach flipped nervously at where this was going. 

Their bodies were starting to rock the bed gently. Sherlock could feel his skin getting warm. "Can I touch you, John?" he asked. "I want to, but only if you want me to."

John nodded, twisting and pulling Sherlock on top of him.

Sherlock leaned over and kissed John's mouth softly. He slid his hand down John's body, resting it for a moment on his hip. He kept his eyes open, watching John's reaction to his every move. His hand reached John's cock. He gently brushed his fingers over it, before wrapping them around it, just holding it softly. He kissed John again. He began moving his hand, quite lightly, noting the reactions of John's face and body.

Then he lifted his hand to his mouth and slicked it with his tongue. He moved it back to John's cock and began stroking more firmly. He leaned down and sucked the skin on John's neck. His own breath began to quicken, and he could feel his hips move with the rhythm of his hand.

John tilted his head and laced his fingers into Sherlock's hair again. His hips started rolling up to meet Sherlock's, every move slow and deliberate. 

Sherlock leaned his head down, resting it on the pillow next to John's. He could feel himself getting more and more excited so he tried to follow his breath, to keep it under control. He kept a steady rhythm on John's cock as he rocked his against John's thigh.

"Oh, Sherlock," John breathed into his ear, pecking kisses on his temple, panting softly. 

"Spread your legs," Sherlock whispered.

John whimpered softly and spread them, finding Sherlock's mouth and kissing him again. He knew what was coming and he wanted it. That was new, but with Sherlock -- it was all so very good.  

Sherlock licked his hand again and lowered it to the inside of one of John's thighs. He moved to John's balls, holding and pulling them lightly. He turned his head and moved his mouth against John's ear. He let his fingers brush against John's hole before his hand moved back to John's cock. He kept up this cycle -- some strokes on John's cock, a move to his thigh to his balls then his hole then back again. He wanted John to be overwhelmed with the feeling, too distracted to worry.

"Yes," John moaned, squirming under his touch. "Sherlock, God . . ." Those beautiful hands felt amazing, touching these intimate parts of him. 

Sherlock felt a pulse of electricity shoot through him when he heard the word yes followed by his own name. He now kept his hand between John's legs, letting his fingers brush and linger over John's hole. He lightly pressed his finger against it before slowly pushing just a little bit in. "Is this okay?" he whispered.

John nodded, his voice failing him for a moment. He took a deep breath and tried again. "Yes," he mumbled. 

"You're very sexy, John Watson," Sherlock whispered as he pushed his finger slowly into him. He stopped the movement for a moment and leaned over and kissed John hard, nipping at his bottom lip. "Kiss me back," he purred.

John moaned and arched against his hand when he stopped. The intrusion was different but not unpleasant. John leaned his head up and pressed his lips hard to Sherlock's. 

Sherlock took John's kiss. "I don't want us to stop," he whispered, "but if we're going to keep going, I need to get something out of the drawer right there. Okay?"

"Okay," John nodded.

Sherlock slipped his finger slowly from John's body and leaned over to reach the drawer. He brought out a bottle of lube and dribbled some onto his hand. He slid his hand back down, pressing his finger back in. "This is nicer," Sherlock said. He started to move his finger gently in and out. He leaned down and kissed John's mouth.

John moaned into the kiss, his hands holding Sherlock's shoulders and back. Yes, that felt so much nicer. He bucked lightly, wanting more. He kissed Sherlock harder, enjoying that as well. 

Sherlock moved his mouth all over John's face, licking and sucking the skin. He dipped to John's ear and sucked in the lobe, then traced the edges with his tongue. He kept moving into John, slipping in a second finger.

John was panting, moving his head to try to catch Sherlock's mouth again and sighing when he couldn't. His lips felt good everywhere, of course, so he certainly wasn't complaining.

Sherlock slowly moved his body down John's, leaving a trail of kisses. He moved himself between John's legs, leaned over and licked a stripe up John's cock. Then he swirled his tongue around the tip. He kept moving his fingers into John as he used his other hand to hold John's cock, tipping it into his mouth, covering it with his tongue as he gently sucked.

"Christ," John moaned, gripping the bed so he wouldn't buck into Sherlock's mouth. Both sensations together were incredible.

John's noises and movements were almost driving Sherlock crazy until he realised that this, this is something he could do for John. Perhaps he wasn't very good at using the right words or making grand gestures, but this is one way that he could show John just how much he meant to him. This is how he could show John he loved him. He hummed along John's cock, making little vibrations that went straight through his own body.

"Oh," John pleaded. "Sherlock . . . please." He reached down to touch his head, almost petting it, opening and closing his fingers in his hair. 

Sherlock lifted his head slightly and began stroking John's cock more firmly. He licked the precome before sucking on the tip. He moved his fingers, curling, hitting John's prostate. He wanted John to come, to let go, to feel good.

"Fuck," John breathed, unable to help bucking up now. That was the final push, heat pulsing through every nerve every time Sherlock's fingers passed his prostate. "I'm -- I'm close . . ."

"You're so gorgeous," Sherlock moaned as he looked up to watch John's face. He pressed his mouth against John's belly, swirling his tongue there, as he kept his hands moving in their separate rhythms. He could feel his own cock aching and wondered if he'd come just from the sight of this.

John's stomach twitched, and he writhed a bit more before it was all too much. He called out for Sherlock just before he came, gripping Sherlock's hair as the waves rolled through him. It was incredible, intense, and so very good.

Sherlock kept his eyes on John as his orgasm moved through him. He kept hold of John's cock, his fingers covered in come. He delicately slid his other fingers from John and moved up to lie beside him. "That was beautiful, John," he whispered. "Thank you."

John turned to face him, still panting lightly. "You . . . it was wonderful . . ." he said quietly.

Sherlock looked up at the ceiling. This night really had not gone as he planned, and he couldn't believe how pleased that made him feel. He rolled on his side to face John. "It worked out well, us, this thing, didn't it?" Sherlock said, smiling.

John rolled onto his side as well and reached out and wrapped his fingers around Sherlock's still hard cock. "Oh love," he murmured, starting to stroke him.

Sherlock closed his eyes at John's touch. He leaned his head towards John, burying it against his chest. "God, John," he moaned softly.

"Everything together now . . . equal," John said quietly, kissing his temple as he stroked faster.

Sherlock's hips rocked into John's hand and gripped John's shoulder. Touching John had built up a tension in his body, and he could feel that he was about to explode. He tried to keep his breath under control, but he couldn't. He called John's name and came, jerking against John. He pushed his face back into his chest, panting.

John stroked him through his orgasm, speaking in his ear the whole time about how beautiful he was. About how sexy he was. When he was done and catching his breath, John wrapped his arm around him instead. "Yes, it worked out pretty well, I think," he smiled softly. 

"John," Sherlock breathed against his skin. It was intense -- letting go like this was not something he usually did with another person. But it was John and John was safe. He slipped his arms around John's body and squeezed.

They lay there quietly for a little while.

"Are you okay?" John finally asked, petting his back gently. 

"Yes, John, I'm good," Sherlock swallowed. "It was good." He looked up at John's face and kissed his mouth softly.

"Sure?" John asked, a bit worried about him. He kissed back softly. 

"I am, John," Sherlock said, looking into John's eyes. "It's different for me. I don't normally . . . share this with anyone. I'm glad it was with you." He kissed his neck softly and squeezed John again.

"I'm glad it was with me, too," John murmured. His arms felt so good. Why hadn't they been doing this earlier?

"Do you think we'll do something like this again? Is this how it's going to be now?" Sherlock asked, tentatively.

"I would like to," John nodded. "Would you?"

"Yes," Sherlock said, pressing his face into John's chest again so his voice was a bit muffled. "I am not very good at sentiment, John, I didn't know what I felt, I didn't know how to say what I wanted. But yes, I would like it to be like this now." He kissed John's chest.

John shivered lightly and smiled. "Okay," he said. "You can just . . . show me how you feel, instead of telling me."

"So no more internet comments or anonymous dinners?" Sherlock tried to keep his voice light, but he still couldn't look up at John. It was embarrassing still. "I'll try to do things right."

"You didn't do anything wrong," John laughed softly. "It was just so much and I didn't know. Now that I know the intentions, it was all quite sweet," he smiled, kissing the top of his head. 

Sherlock finally looked up. "I'm glad you thought it was sweet. I'll just be more sensible. Perhaps I'll just order you to strip the minute you get home from work -- would that be more straight forward in telling you what's on my mind?" He smiled cheekily.

John grinned. "Yes actually. Just ban clothes from the flat entirely. I'll change on the landing."

Sherlock reached down John's body and squeezed his arse cheeks. "Mrs Hudson will become suspicious," he laughed. He lifted his hands and held John's head. He looked straight into his eyes and said, "I want this to work, John. I want our friendship to be a good one, that's most important. I loved what we just did, but I want to treat you right as a friend . . . or whatever we are now. I mean it."

"I feel like you think you've been treating me wrong, despite my many assurances that you haven't been," John said. "Are you calling me a liar?" he teased, smiling at him. 

"No, I don't think you're lying, but I think you might not be seeing things objectively. Since the day we met, you've been blinded by an unspoken desire to get a hand job from me and this has clouded your judgment on my ability to be a good friend," Sherlock pinched John's skin lightly.

John laughed and squirmed away from the pinch. "You're right. My lust for you has obviously rendered me stupid. However will we fix this?" 

"You must never think of any sex acts with me again," Sherlock said. "That's obviously the only option. When you see me, look at me through judgmental eyes -- keep a distance and decide whether or not my behaviour is worthy of you." As he spoke, he pecked kisses on John's neck and slid one of his legs between John's to separate them. Then he rolled over on top of John and lifted his arms to pin them above his head. "When you think of Sherlock Holmes, no sexual thoughts whatsoever." He licked the side of John's face.

John wrinkled his nose and turned his head, laughing again, squirming underneath him. "But I can't help it! He's just so sexy. I can't help myself!"

"John, don't you think I understand. I've lived with Sherlock Holmes for three decades -- I know how seductive he can be," he was moving his hips slightly against John's. He held both John's wrists with one hand and slid the other one down John's body. "But you need to stay strong and objective."

John arched up lightly and shook his head. "I don't think I want to," he said. 

"But John, you must, because how else will I learn how to treat you right? If you don't tell me, I'll never know what you like," he moved his hand to John's cock and held it softly. He sucked the skin on John's neck.

"I think . . .you can manage just fine," John said, his voice breaking lightly. Sherlock had quite an effect on him.

"I don't know, John," Sherlock huskily, "You're so much more experienced in these matters. You are easily seduced and you seduce easily. The last few days have clearly illustrated that I do not have the slightest idea what I'm doing." He lowered his body so their cocks pressed together. He wrapped his fingers around both and rocked his hips slightly.

"But you're such a fast learner," John moaned, bucking steadily now. He really did know what he was doing. 

Sherlock leaned his head down to John's ear. "It's because of you," he whispered. "Tell me what to do next."

"Um," John took several deep breaths. "Will you . . . go inside again?" 

"Of course, I will," Sherlock said into his ear. He sat up a bit and looked down at John's face and smiled. He reached for the bottle of lube and spilt some into his hands. "Tell me if you're too sore," he said, dropping a kiss onto John's mouth. He moved one hand to John's thigh and then slid it between his legs, dragging his fingers before slowly pushing one inside.

John hummed lightly and shook his head. "I'm okay," he said, taking deep breaths. 

"Good," Sherlock said. He started a rhythm with his finger, going deeper each time. "Do you like this feeling?" he whispered.

"With you . . . yes," John nodded, speaking quietly. 

Sherlock smiled. "I like doing it to you. It makes me feel good. I don't think you know how sexy you are, John." Sherlock slipped a second finger inside, curling a little. "Separate your legs," he said as he shifted his body so his legs were between John's. He changed the rhythm of his fingers -- going more slowly, but pushing deeper inside before pulling them almost all the way out.

John pulled his legs apart and back a bit, moaning as Sherlock went deeper and writhing lightly against his fingers. "You're perfect," he whispered.

"You're the only one who thinks that and that is just fine with me," Sherlock said. He moved his hips a little so their cocks pressed against their stomachs. "God, I love this," he moaned softly. He kept moving his fingers, filling and stretching John.

"Me too," John murmured, leaning up to kiss his chin and jaw and neck. 

"Can I put it inside you?" Sherlock leaned down and whispered. "I'll be careful."

"Yes," John nodded. "Please, yes." He pulled his legs back more, his body arching a bit, needing it. 

"Jesus, John, okay, I wasn't sure you'd say yes," Sherlock said, smiling. "Just be sure, okay?" he slipped his fingers from John and leaned over, digging through the bottom drawer until he found a condom. He slipped it on and moved back between John's legs. "Are you sure? Even if you think you are, if we start and you want to stop, just say. It's okay," he said softly, pouring a bit more lube in his hand before slowly pushing his fingers in again.

"Sherlock, please," John whined softly. He'd never wanted anything so badly. He needed it, and he'd never felt something like that before -- needing something inside him -- needing Sherlock inside. 

Sherlock took out his fingers and grabbed a couple pillows to slip under John's hips. He moved to line up and slowly began pushing himself into John. It was tight around him and felt so good. He entered so slowly, feeling every bit of pressure as his cocked moved in. "God, John, it's good, you feel so good," he moaned, his breath already changing.

"Yes . . ." John moaned, gripping the bed tightly. The stretch burned a bit, but he didn't care. It felt good, being filled like that. With Sherlock. "Sherlock . . .yes."

Sherlock moved his hands to the bed above each of John's shoulders. He looked down at John and lowered his body onto his. "I'm going to move now," Sherlock said. "I want it to feel good to you, tell me how it feels. Tell me to stop if it hurts," he pressed a kiss onto John's mouth as he began to rock his hips, slowly at first, pushing himself deeper into John.

"Good," John moaned. "It's -- it's so good." He could feel every inch of Sherlock moving inside of him and it was incredible. "Feel so full . . . of you." He leaned up and kissed Sherlock hard. 

"God, I can't, it just feels so good," Sherlock's breath was fast now. "John, I've got to move more," he said, his hips bucking, his movements instinctual.

"Okay," John nodded, trying to relax even more around him. "It's okay."

Sherlock let himself go. He started to thrust into John, pushing him into the mattress, trying to get closer and further inside. "God," he moaned, pressing himself against John, using the friction of their bodies to rub John's cock as well. He tried to keep his eyes open to watch John, but they were closing, he was losing himself in this incredible pleasure.

John groaned with every push, his body jerking back with each one. He felt completely full, stretched and open for Sherlock. He was moaning loudly, calling out for Sherlock, begging for more. This felt better than he ever imagined. 

John's noises were all Sherlock needed -- he had wanted to make this last as long as he could but he couldn't take anymore, he had to come. "John," he called out, his body curling up, pressing in and almost freezing, until it jerked once more and he lay flat for a moment on John. He reached to John's cock and stroked it. "Come, John," he wanted to feel John's orgasm while he was still inside him.

John's breathing turned to shuddering gasps as he let go, coming into Sherlock's hand, onto their stomachs. He felt himself squeeze around Sherlock, mumbling and moaning his name and various other swears. He shivered and finally lay still, trying to catch his breath. 

"Jesus, John," Sherlock gasped. "You're so incredibly sexy." He slowly pulled out and took off the condom. He wiped his hand and their bellies with a t-shirt and threw it on to the floor. "Stay and sleep with me, please."

"I don't think I can walk," John breathed, smiling softly. "But even if I could, I would stay. Of course I would."

Sherlock curled against him and just ran his hands over John's chest and face and into his hair. "I love everything about you, John Watson," he said, his voice sounding sleepy. "I want it to stay nice like this for always."

"I love you, too, Sherlock. That was -- thank you," John murmured. "Thank you," he said again, his eyes closed. He was so tired now. 

Sherlock's eyes closed as well. Quite honestly, he wasn't really used to this much physical exertion. Add that to the anxiety of the last day or two and his whole body was exhausted. "Promise to be here when I wake up," he mumbled, not even opening his eyes. He kept an arm across John's chest.

John nodded. "Always," he mumbled, half asleep. He yawned and drifted off. "Always."


End file.
